Potential
by pseudonym blue
Summary: An empty and heartbroken Harry Potter brings forth his last hope before he ends his life, knowing that what he has documented - an insight into the future, brought to his fifth year of Hogwarts - can change everything. Original plot, many pairings and warnings inside. AU. Trigger warning - this story has triggers for pretty much everything. If susceptible, please don't read.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer- I don't own the HP world, and neither does anybody else on here.**

**Warnings are many and will be stated later on - you'll see them, don't worry.**

_I'd like to clarify- in this story, the characters do not read the Harry Potter books, but a book containing the events of an AU future and past._

_Thanks for giving my story a chance, I hope that you enjoy it :) _

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The sound echoed through the empty front hall of Hogwarts, unheard by its students and staff. The front doors had opened, seemingly by themselves. Slowly, eventually, they swung back closed, and where there would normally be the sound of footsteps on the polished stone floors there was nothing. The castle itself, confused by the power and emotion in its silent guest, let him pass, for this person was a greatly changed and invisible familiar face.

He clutched in his hand his life's last purpose, and far be it from her to deprive him of it.

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He made his silent way to the Great Hall, smiling wryly to himself at how familiar the path was to the soles of his feet. He wasn't concerned over his possible reception; no, there was nothing that could hurt him now.

Again silently, the doors to the Great Hall swung open. Nobody noticed.

It was February the seventh in the year nineteen ninety-six, and Harry Potter was completely unaware that his very future stood nearby and was, in fact, moving toward the Staff Table where Umbridge resided, smiling her sickeningly sweet smile down upon her prisoners. He didn't glance around; he knew better than to rip out his own heart over the presence of people he hadn't seen for years, people who couldn't understand his love for them, his enemies. The enemies of his younger self. . . .

Scolding himself and blinding back tears, a thirty-five- year-old Harry Potter glanced at the gem on the ring on his finger and the handwritten leather book and small box he clutched to his chest.

He pulled out his wand. With a swift motion that belied his emotions he removed the invisibility cloak from his shoulder, revealing himself.

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The chapters will become much longer as the story progresses.

Thanks to qslashfan for pointing out that it was ninety-six and not five, I really appreciated it.


	2. Chapter 2

**I don't own Harry Potter. **

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It took a moment for the students and teachers of Hogwarts to notice the incredibly thin, bespectacled, dark-haired man standing before them brandishing a wand, but soon enough notice they did.

Everyone at the staff table jumped up, prepared to fight for the castle and their students; everyone, that is, except for Dolores Umbridge, who rose slowly from the head chair, nostrils flaring. The sheer loathing that she felt for this-person, this _invader_, was perhaps more immediate than it ought to be, but- no, it was perfectly called for. It was her school, after all. Yes.

Meanwhile, Severus Snape, who was holding an aggressive fighter's stance- not dueling but fighting, _that_ was the significance- was rather viciously attempting to figure out who this person was and why he was at Hogwarts. People didn't suddenly _appear _in the middle of Hogwarts, after all. There was something to this, there _had_ to be something to this, some reason…. He could feel his heart pounding, the sheer adrenaline. He could feel the cool metal of the blade in his left hand, contrasting with the smooth, warm, nearly vibrating wand in his right. He couldn't suppress a wicked smile. There hadn't been a good fight in a long time.

Seated at the farthest end of the Slytherin table, a tall, thin girl with dark, glinting eyes and long brown hair mimicked his position without difficulty. Seeing her professor like this, body tensed and prepared to fight . . . she shuddered. Oh Merlin, he was _beautiful _just then, with power practically rippling off of him, dark hair shook back to show his face, his eyes moving quickly, his hard, calculating expression. He- no, there was someone at Hogwarts, and there were first years nearby who no one else would bother to protect.

Whispers broke out in the Great Hall; the sight of their professors, wands aimed at the intruder, who simply stood, wand raised and staring back at them, was rather shocking to the Hogwarts populace. Harry Potter gripped his wand in hand, staring at the strange man before them from the far end of the room, the near-constant dead seeping into him again. Who was this person?

Eventually Professor McGonagall spoke, nearly unable to keep her voice from quivering. "Who are you?" She stopped talking to rearrange her face, feeling that smoothing her expression would necessitate literally pulling at her skin. "Why have you come here?"

"How can a person _come _to a place where they _already_ _are,_ Professor?"

Minerva paused at that, attempting to puzzle out what had been said.

Sitting alone at the Ravenclaw table, a girl with dirty blonde hair and odd, light blue eyes tried to answer the question. Indeed many of the best minds at Hogwarts were attempting the same thing- yet many of them were without an answer. All of them, really, except for that one. That one was Luna Lovegood, who idly twirled a strand of soft, thin hair, feeling it against her sensitive fingertips. She smiled and did not hesitate before she began to speak.

"He means that he's already here, of course. But were you already here all along, Mister, or are you here in more than one entity?"

The entire hall, as one, seemed to turn from the vague direction of the voice to the stranger; perhaps the candles, magically floating high up by the ceiling, even flickered a bit with the movement of the air. Either way, something in the hall seemed to tense- or loosen, really- the people there had a tendency to disagree. Both of the girl's prospects were disturbing, the second impossible. It could be said that the people of Hogwarts all at once considered and even realized that the current, miserable way of life had been thrown askew for the better.

At these words Umbridge could seemingly take no more. "_What-is-this_?" she screeched. "_Why_ has nobody _attacked_ him?"

"_Perhaps,_" Severus drawled, "somepeople wish to follow through on the promise of a _proper justice system _before they capture someone and cart them away." (Memories flashed briefly over him; his hands tied; the cramped little boat on the thrashing sea; the island, and the horrific purpose that it had been put to use for; the guards, shielded from the sickening feeling surrounding him, leading him down, down. He pushed the thought away and focused.)

Despite the point behind his statement he was still prepared for some sort of a fray. All that he knew was that this person, whoever they were, had done nothing yet; their neutrality held them higher than Umbridge, and he saw no reason to attack. Still he did not relax his stance.

Before Umbridge had the chance to retaliate- and _oh,_ she planned to retaliate- the stranger spoke. Several teachers who had glanced at Severus in rare appreciation jumped a bit. "Actually, Luna, you're right. I'll explain more fully in a minute; but first of all. . . ."

He flicked his wand, and Umbridge was trapped inside what appeared to be a giant ball. She screamed and beat at it with her fists; she shot a spell at it and it bounced off it and struck her in the chest; she fell unconscious.

There was a beat of silence.

Then the cheers came. They seemed to nearly raise the enchanted ceiling with their sound, their enormity, and if the candled hadn't flickered before they did then. A minute after the initial roar of sound Minerva McGonagall sent off a firework that silenced the room with a faint smile on her face. She faced the intruder, and her smile faded.

"You have not properly answered what we have asked you. We at Hogwarts do not favor violence, but you have come without warning of your arrival and openly attacked our headmistress." She paused a moment and looked around the hall. "I assume no one knows how this person has slipped through our wards?"

He smiled easily at her - it had been years and he had long since learned to fake different expressions. "Really I ought to introduce myself and then explain," he said. His smile turned wry. "Thanks for not killing me, by the way."

_Though it wouldn't be unwelcome. _ He heaved a deep sigh and inhaled, and then he began to speak.

"I imagine that none of you will believe me - or really, only a few - but I was born in the year nineteen eighty."

The quiet of curiosity and attentiveness dropped into a heavy, disbelieving silence. All around the hall students were calculating; this man had to be at least thirty-five. No, he had a medical condition that aged him. He was under Polyjuice; he had taken a potion. He had magically altered his appearance. A person born in nineteen eighty wasn't thirty-five in nineteen ninety-six. He would be in two thousand fifteen. . . . It was everywhere. No. It wasn't true.

Surely, he thought darkly, a school of magic would have left them open-minded. It seemed not.

The teachers, meanwhile, where running through the list of names from over four years ago, of their fifth years' first year at Hogwarts; the group with the most children born in nineteen eighty. Severus Snape scanned the room, expression blank. He was the only one who seemed to have considered that the man was lying, and was thinking then of all the people from his own Hogwarts years, and of the possibility of this person having come from somewhere else. _Somewhere else- _he locked on to that thought and did his best to think about it. This was going too slowly, no one was moving, no one was speaking-

"I arrived at Hogwarts's gates after apparating from my . . . _residence_ . . . and I arrived at my residence by the use of a Time-Turner." He paused and looked around at the blank and shocked expressions before adding the worst and final part. "I came from the year two thousand sixteen," he breathed deeply, wishing that he could comfort himself somehow in this, the last scenario of his life, "and I am Harry Potter."

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Thanks everyone for reading, reviewing, favoriting, and marking for alert! Sorry I'm taking so long on this.


	3. Chapter 3

Every pair of eyes in every head in the Great Hall turned from their intruder, now named, to the Harry Potter sitting in between Ron and Neville at the Gryffindor table, found in the side of the hall nearest the doors. Harry glanced round quickly and then ducked his head, emerald green eyes meeting the steady brown of Hermione's briefly across the table. He could feel the whole Hall focusing on him, staring, weighing him down.

The hall broke out in whispers.

"He's . . . what?"

"He's medically insane, that's what. You _honestly_ believe this?"

"Well, he _did_ break the wards. . . ."

"That only means he's more dangerous!" A seventh year Slytherin spat.

"Or more powerful," the dark-haired girl whispered.

A small first year spoke shakily, somehow heard over everyone else. "Look at Professor Snape." He pointed to Snape, who stood watching the self-proclaimed Harry Potter intently.

"What about him?" the seventh year shot back. The first year- his name was Tom, and he had nightmares, and he had always looked up to their Professor for his bravery- sank down in his seat, wishing he hadn't spoken at all.

The girl felt a jolt of hot irritation rush through her. Riled, she lifted her head, speaking directly to the seventh year. "He's assessing the situation and remaining in control of himself, _as should you_! Everyone needs to just _shut up!_"

Several Slytherins looked round at her outburst. She glanced down, fingers tightening around her wand, not knowing that three tables away a fifth year with untidy hair and a violently blushing face was in the same position.

Harry felt a gentle tug on his sleeve; he looked, and it was Hermione. She leaned forward, and Ron followed suit. "Harry," Hermione whispered anxiously, "you don't think that he could be a Death Eater, do you?"

"Well it doesn't seem much like there's anyone on our side powerful enough to break through the Hogwarts wards, does it?" He said darkly. "Or else we'd have heard of them- come to think about it, never mind."

"You don't think - it could be some bloke sent here from Dumbledore, d'you think?" Ron asked.

"I doubt it."

Neville leaned in from Harry's left. "Is it really that impossible, though- that maybe it actually _is_ Harry?"

"_No_!" Hermione exclaimed. "It's _completely_ impossible!" She seemed rather panicked.

"Shh." Harry gestured to the front of the hall, which had fallen nearly silent.

The man standing there spoke, and there was a powerful ring in his voice that Neville knew to be Harry's.

"You don't believe me; well, whether you do or not, you will soon. After all," he paused here to glance around at all of them, his roiling emotions shoved deep down as his eyes met their faces, "don't you all want to know who dies in the war?"

He nearly snorted at the predictable response; their eyes popped wide, the question on every mind; _What war?_

"Which war are you speaking of?"

Harry glanced at McGonagall, who had spoken. "The war that begins in about four months, June nineteen ninety-six. The war that everyone pretended would never happen; _that_ war."

Dread settled over the Hall, and Minerva's insides twisted. Where was Albus now, how could they get him here? Surely he would know more about this, how to handle this.

The figure spoke. "Last year, as you all were told, Voldemort rose again. This year, he freed some of his most devoted and powerful followers from Azkaban. Now the Lestranges, Dolohov, Mulciber, and at least thirty lesser Death Eaters are at his side, and he's recruiting new members as I speak. He's focusing on magical minorities, people and creatures that are against the Ministry, against wizardkind, against muggles. Werewolves, vampires, giants, dementors; nearly all of them are against the Light, which is even more of a minority than any of them ever were. The Order of the Phoenix, the Light organization involving most of the Light supporters that are adults, is weak and unable to fight any Death Eaters with any hope of winning. No one under the age of seventeen is allowed in the Order, and some who are of age are still prohibited from joining. The few people who are willing to train the Order as an army are the most hated by them, and nobody is willing to learn that killing is necessary in war and that, yes, the Light side needs to become a group of killers in order to win the war. In short, we are in no way prepared for what is going to happen; and so we can never stand against Voldemort until we are."

Once the Hall had recovered from its collective, flinching silence, the figure held up a wooden box, stained dark brown and about the size of a book.

"This box," he said, "contains a book and a collection of memories. The book I wrote myself; in it are my past experiences, though much of the book is, for everyone else, about the future. Some of the memories are my own and some are the memories of others. Most of them, however, are from Professor Snape."

Sitting at the staff table, Severus Snape felt a heavy, choking dread settle over him. The dark-haired girl looked up at him in concern; yet this movement was repeated all throughout the Hall of astonished students, and among the sea of turned heads he tried, but could not find her face. He did his best to focus, trying to guess whether the memories were personal or incriminating, or, as he guessed they would be, both.

A sudden burst of questioning sprang to his mind, and he had to work to keep his face blank. Would the memories show Regulus, Clarence, his childhood home life? Would they show the Dark Lord, reveal his duplicity in the war? Would they count them as evidence for his crimes, take him back to the Ministry for a second trial? Would they jeopardize Clarence's safety?

Feeling especially sick at that last thought, he banished the questions as best as he could until later. What should most concern him now was the question of how this "Potter" had gotten the memories. He was relieved when the man spoke.

"Don't worry, everyone. He hasn't been running around in my time with half of his life missing; the memories are duplicated. They were given, from Professor Snape, to an old friend of mine, who gave them to me years later. I hope that you'll all learn a lot from them."

Tucking the box under his arm, he walked along the length of the raised platform of the staff table and turned, walking toward Harry, Ron, and Hermione at the Gryffindor table. He saw his younger self's hand tighten around his wand, which he clutched protectively against his chest. He couldn't rid himself of the pang that struck him then.

He would give so much to be able to hold onto his younger self, seeing him so prepared to fight, hiding his fear. He would give so much to be able to reassure him, but he couldn't now.

The Gryffindors had flinched away as he moved forward. Harry watched as the man placed the box before him on the table, next to a large, now unappetizing chocolate cake. His wrist and hand, revealed from under his sleeves, looked thin and spindly. Up close, the eyes under the square-lensed glasses perfectly matched his, flecked emerald green. When the man spoke to Harry his voice was low, but the dead silence in the Hall made sure it carried.

"I'm giving you this book, Harry, because I'm ruined. It's not because of the choices I've made; it's because of circumstance, and I'm not the only one who's been affected the same way. There are things shown in here that go wrong that shouldn't have; what I want you, and all of you, to understand isn't that I want you to do exactly as this book says, and you'll understand why in the end. What I want is to save lives and to keep what happened before, what _would_happen if I had never come here, from happening. I want less people to die in the war. I want more people to be able to live happier, more fulfilled lives than they would have ended up with after the war."

He sighed and walked toward the hall doors. This was it; his parting words, his end. He didn't feel as sick as he thought he would about it. He could never tell them what he really wanted to say; he couldn't lay out his own hopes for the future, because he felt that it would it wouldn't be right, because his old Gryffindor morals held him back again. He had conveyed in the book his true feelings; he could not give them any more than that.

"I've included a list of people who need to be present for every reading and memory viewing, and instructions on how to view the memories. The book is to be read one chapter a day, every day at dinner, unless the book says to watch a memory before moving to the next chapter. Someone will read it every day- yes, publicly- in the Great Hall. You will read the chapters and watch the memories _only in the order I have laid out_, though they can be reread and re-viewed at any time after the first. Don't start reading until everyone on the list is here and you've gotten rid of Umbridge."

He was standing directly in front of the doors now. He looked around and found their faces; his younger self, sick and disbelieving; Ron, Hermione and Neville, shocked, clinging to every word; Luna, smiling at him when he caught her eye; Snape, before he knew, before he understood, expressionless and staring; Clarence, tense in her seat at the Slytherin table, her face the same; Dray, when he was still blonde, when he was still a prick, before he'd been changed; Parkinson, looking the same as she had when Dray had laid on her corpse; and then, finally, Theo. He looked past the curly brown hair and wary expression into his eyes, the same shade of deep brown as they had always been. Theo was unnerved, he knew, but he didn't show it. He kept his eyes trained on Theo's as he spoke, for the last time.

"I hope that this is for the better and not the worse. Please, try to learn something."

His eyes wandered up to the enchanted ceiling, lingering on the clouds, close enough together to entirely block out the sun. It seemed to mean something, but it was too late to think about it now. Now he could only hope for a better future of which he could never be a part. He lifted his wand and forced the feelings through it, his last friend, and felt the magic tingle in his hand.

_"Avada Kedavra."_

The flash of green light was both one of his first and his very last memory.


	4. Chapter 4

A collective shudder and gasp went through them at the words, the light. Some hid their faces; others looked vaguely amused, as if at a joke. People stood to get a better view of the body, only to find that there was none, that the man had disappeared. Harry Potter simply stared before him, wide eyes glued to the box on the table. The entire hall seemed to be holding its breath, watching.

The box had a keyhole. The key, a silver skeleton key to match the metal on the box, was tied to it by a black satin ribbon. Harry untied it with shaking fingers; the ribbon came away with the key attached to the end of it, tied into a necklace. He forced his shaking fingers to work as he inserted and turned the key; how anticlimactic would it be if the box would not open? Their eyes were glued to him. It came unlocked. He removed the key and pulled the ribbon over his head. The silkiness of it against his skin made up for the cold, heavy weight it brought with it.

He opened the box. Inside it were small glass phials filled, as the man had said, with swirling, silver-blue strands of light, aligned in little rows. The knowledge of who they were from made him wary of touching them. The edges of the box had handles, and he pulled them, lifting the memories away to reveal a black, leather-bound book. The similarity of it to Tom Riddle's diary was uncanny. The outside of it read:

_Written by Harry Nott_

_Illustrated by Theodore Nott_

and when Harry tried it would not open. Irritated, he set it down beside the box. However, he did glimpse a piece of parchment at the bottom of the box, and seeing as it was not stuck there he felt in irritation lift, replaced by curiosity. It was a list. Glancing up, he saw Hermione with her hand outstretched, her eyes imploring. He handed it to her, and their fingers brushed comfortingly.

Her voice clear and carrying, Hermione read. "It says, 'List of People Required to be Present at All Chapter Readings and Memory Viewings,' and then it has names." She looked around, slightly nervous at having taken the title of reader. When they stared at her, all with rapt attention, she looked down and continued. "And then it says, 'Lucius, Narcissa and Draco Malfoy . . . Arthur, Molly . . . _Percy_ . . . Fred, George, Ron, and Ginny Weasley.'" There were sniggers at the long list of Weasleys, and once they had subsided she went on. "'Severus Snape, Remus Lupin . . . Sirius Black. . . .'"

The silence went on unbroken, though the candles seemed to have flickered again. Harry, however, felt cheered. Perhaps this meant that Sirius would be revealed as innocent? He glanced down, then, imagining what it would be like to see Sirius again, to have him around. He ached at the prospect of it.

Hermione hurried on as the room began to buzz, wishing she hadn't paused. "'Cornelius Fudge, Minerva McGonagall, Filius Flitwick, Albus Dumbledore, Pansy Parkinson, Theodore Nott, Ash and Carol Mallowitz, Clarence . . . Luna Lovegood, Neville Longbottom, Hermione Granger, and Harry Potter.

"'These people are to take whatever actions necessary to be present, as they are the ones who are the most directly affected in the actions resulting from the changing of the future, as well as main characters in the book and the memories. Only once these people are gathered for or after dinner in the Great Hall at Hogwarts will the book and memories open. The magic has already been placed upon them to detect their presence and when a certain chapter or memory had been read or viewed. The presence of these people and the explicit following of these instructions are crucial. Once these people are all assembled, the first chapter of the book can be read.'"

Whispers broke out after a beat of silence. Hermione passed the list to Harry, who pocketed it and replaced the book to the box, placing the tray of phials carefully over it. He pulled the key from around his neck, glad for the excuse to look down; all around the Gryffindor table people were questioning him.

"What d'you think it'll be about, mate?"

"You didn't know about this before, did you?"

"Lucius Malfoy, Harry?"

"_Sirius Black?"_

"C'mon," Ron said, tugging Harry's sleeve. "Let's get out of here before they swarm."

Ron led the way, Harry and Hermione following shortly; they abandoned their plates, the food having vanished, and Ron pushed open the heavy door, holding it for them before leaving himself. He carried the box under his arm, as the other Harry had done.

This seemed to mark the beginning of the gradual dissipation of the crowd. The first ones to leave, though they tried, could not see the three down the corridors; they guessed they must have ran.

Amidst the crowd of eager and fearful faces, a small clump of Slytherins made their way to the dungeons, stragglers behind the main group. They were conversing in hushed voices, unable contain their anxiety until they had reached the common room or perhaps, if they could, the fifth year boys' dorm.

"You don't think," Draco said, keeping his voice low, "that the reason we're 'main characters' is because - because we're –?"

"We said we wouldn't," Pansy reminded him. "We swore we wouldn't."

"You don't know how the circumstances might change," Theo said, and the weight of this possibility settled over the three of them almost visibly.

The fourth member of the group, taller and older than the rest and feeling oddly responsible for them, swiped her long hair from her face and spoke. "Professor Snape said that it might be safer – for us – to be Death Eaters."

"Shut up, Clarence." Draco couldn't remember feeling so tense since the night before his Sorting. If his parents were there for the reading, if they found out what he had been doing –! His hand jumped to cover the side of his neck at the thought of it. Pansy, seeing this, moved to his side and pulled his hand down to his side, holding it. He squeezed. The feel of her ring, cool metal, was calming, familiar.

"Dray," Theo said reprovingly. Then he sighed, looking up to meet her eyes. "He was talking about you. You don't need to lie about it; we'd be thrashed if we were Death Eaters. You'd make a perfect one, you and Professor Snape."

Clarence sighed too, and as she looked at him they both understood her thoughts as if they were projected on a screen. There was more to it than the four of them, than even Professor Snape, could manage, and in the end their fate depended on where the world around them would take them, and how this new information from their supposed future would change that world.

"At least if we're main characters then we stay alive," Draco said. "I would think."

"Yeah," Theo replied, though his mind filled with images, and he knew that Dray could never be as sure as he was of how one death could change an entire story, no matter how significant the person.

They had reached the portrait entrance to the common room. Here Clarence left them, turning back to go a different way, and no one questioned her. They all knew how those two got when a situation arose, and that they would have come to some sort of a conclusion in the morning, when Professor Snape would explain it to them.

Crabbe and Goyle were waiting for them, having left early. "Hey Draco, what's" –

"Not now, Crabbe."

Forgoing homework, (because it was a Thursday and really, with one day left, was it worth it in the face of what had just happened?) Draco, Theo and Pansy entered the boys' dorm.

"'Night, you two. Be sure to use the potion!" Theo added, as he always did.

"Bugger off."

"My point exactly."

Draco groaned. "Just go to sleep, you prick."

"Arse."

Pansy glanced him over as she and Draco pushed back the four-poster's curtains and got in. "You look sick."

Draco did not respond, instead taking her hand and stroking her smooth, pretty ring. It did not shine; the heavy green curtains shut out the firelight. She pushed him down, crawling over him, and the familiarity of being pinned down, the weight and the pressure, was enough to still his whirling thoughts. "I feel even worse."

"Well, try not to, because there's nothing we can do now. We'll just," she leaned over him until their noses touched, "have to wait."

He could feel her breath in the movement of her chest, the warmth from her nose. Yet the proximity to her was no longer working its magic at stilling his mind, and dread crept into his chest as though left there by the air they were both breathing.

In the dark, Pansy felt rather than saw him smile. Draco Malfoy was a magnificent actor.

Up in Gryffindor Tower, Hermione Granger was going in circles. What had happened was _impossible._ The man had popped up inside Hogwarts – and it was impossible to apparate inside Hogwarts – and claimed that he had information about the future, that he was the future Harry Potter. He had stood near Harry, had been in the same room as him, and he had told not only Harry but everyone that he had time-travelled.

If he had travelled through time from the future, bearing information, then how had he shown himself without causing some sort of fraction in time, some drastic change? _That_ had been what Professor McGonagall had warned her about, over all things to do with favoritism and legality. How had he communicated, _how had he done it?_

She had been told that it was impossible to appear to your past self in time. Had she been lied to, had it simply been a cautionary tale, to keep her from meddling? Or, perhaps, this was a new, futuristic prospect they were not yet privy to, that hadn't been discovered.

Also, she would like to know how magic could detect the book having been read and the memories viewed, if the man was dead. And he had died! He had killed himself and disappeared, there had been no body. Had his body gone back in time, or disappeared into time and space? It had happened; and yet the possibility of it happening . . . her head ached.

Harry could tell that Hermione was trying to wrap her head around things. He sighed; Hermione had always driven herself into the ground trying to figure things out. He went over to her, and Ron, seeing this, followed suit. Her head was lowered, her hair covering her face.

"Hey Hermione."

She looked up at him and gave him a forced smile. "Harry, I know you want me to calm down but, I just – Harry, this isn't right! This kind of thing, i-it just doesn't happen! This person could be working for Voldemort, that book could be cursed and you've touched it, that chest – _get that off of your neck!" _she shrieked suddenly, pointing to the key.

Ron looked alarmed, and Harry quickly took the ribbon off.

"Hermione, look," Ron said consolingly, "if there's a problem then McGonagall will come deal with it, remember Harry's broom?"

She inhaled deeply through her nose and sighed. "Alright, Ron. Just – just give me the chest and I'll take it to her to check. I can't sleep knowing it's in the dorm."

Harry left to retrieve it, carrying it down the stairs with a kid of wary reverence. Before he handed it to Hermione he paused. "Wait – take the cloak. Someone might try to attack you and steal it." He paused. "In fact, we ought to go with you."

"No, Harry, I'll be fine. Trust me," she insisted, seeing their skeptical looks. She stuffed the cloak into the large pocket of her robes and left. Harry, Ron, Ginny, Neville, and several other curious Gryffindors watched her go.

Harry wanted to sleep, wanted the entire evening to never have happened. He might not know how, but he knew that the book, the memories, would lead to a drastic change, to many drastic changes. But Umbridge would be sacked, she had to be; that was the first change, and it was good. What worried Harry was how learning about the future would affect his friends, his jumbled, hand-chosen family. What if someone was killed? If they learned what he had hid from them, what would happen? He hated to think of it.

Standing, Harry looked to Ron. "Coming up soon, mate?"

"Soon, yeah," Ron agreed distractedly. Ron was plagued with worries of his own. As he watched Harry clump up the stairs he saw, vividly, Hermione as she had just left. He shook the thoughts away. He needed to talk to Ginny.

Neville, who seemed to sense this, stood and waved at them before following Harry up the stairs and into the little hallway with the seven doors leading to each year's dorm room. He stopped before theirs, wondering if Harry wanted privacy. Deciding he wouldn't be much of a disturbance, he turned the knob and went in. Harry was already in bed.

Neville hesitated before he spoke. "You going to be alright, mate?"

"Yeah," Harry told him. "I'm fine."

He had not asked if Harry was fine; he had asked if he would be. There had always been a certain significant difference between the two questions to Neville, though he found it hard to explain. He knew that Harry was not alright; he didn't need to lie about it. What Neville had asked Harry was whether he would _be_ fine, if he would feel better. He supposed it might be simple, really. Asking a person if they were fine was more for the comfort of the asker, because the idea of the person being not fine was disturbing. Asking someone if they _would_ be was genuine concern for them and their future wellbeing.

The future; wasn't that what the entire thing was about, anyway? The man, Harry, had wanted to fix things, had wanted to insure their future wellbeing as best as he could. Neville respected this. He, of all people, with his many mistakes, best knew the miserable wish for the opportunity to go back in time and change things. His parents, especially, he wished he could change; but there was no hope for them now.

Yet the prospect of hope had always been a call to action to him, and he hoped that it would give him and the others strength the way the D.A did. If what had happened that evening was a chance to help fix the world they lived in now, then it explained why Neville did not hold within him the foreboding towards the box and the possibilities it held that the others felt. The book and the memories had the potential to change it all. It was a good thing.

His thoughts did not show on his face, and even if they had Harry, who was closed behind his thick red curtains, would be unable to see them. For all of Neville's thoughts, all that he said was "Good. See you in the morning."

"'Night Neville."

In the common room, Ron had pulled Ginny aside to disclose the nagging thought that had embedded itself in his mind like a tick at the mention of his father's name.

"Ginny, Dad's not going to be able to take off work early for this book thing. They've had him working until eleven at night for the past month, and dinner starts at seven-thirty. We can't afford it, he'll be sacked, Fudge has been waiting to do it."

"He's got to, he's got no choice! It said that _everyone has to be there_, or else it won't work."

"And you think that tosser'll understand it?"

"Ron," Ginny said, her voice stern at her sudden realization, "Fudge'll be in the same situation, and he's got loads of work to do." She grinned. "He'll be miserable, the pathetic sod."

_That still doesn't mean he won't sack him_, Ron thought darkly. But for his sister's benefit, he shoved it aside; he would have to talk to Fred and George somehow.

"Thank Merlin," Ron muttered. "I thought we'd have to beg Fred and George for Galleons. . . ."

The image of Fred and George as the sole providers for their large family hit Ron very fully in the face. The fact that this was a real possibility stuck a second, more violent blow.

But then Ginny sniggered, and he couldn't help but feel a bit lighter.

"I don't _know_, Minerva! Just find a way to contact Albus; there are things of much more importance to be concerned about than who that man was!"

"Severus_, _you can't simply _abandon_ the issue of a supposed time-travelling stranger being in our castle!"

"You'll be surprised to find that I can!"

Severus Snape stormed out of the classroom, leaving behind his shocked colleagues. He tugged his billowing robes around himself as he descended into the dungeons, passing the common room until a wave of guilt turned him around and brought him to the entryway. Inside, the students ceased their conversations and stared at Snape silently, expectant. He spoke.

"It seems we have been presented with a . . . _unique_ opportunity today."

"Did he really time travel, sir, is that even possible?"

"Professor, are those really your memories? Why would you give them to Potter?"

"Would they really let Sirius Black into the school, are they that mad?"

"I have no definite idea what has happened; no one does. As for the moment, I have no reason why I would gift Potter with my memories, though it is important to keep in mind that they are likely fake and possibly taken by force.

"I did not come here to answer questions; I simply wanted to warn you to behave, and to take everything that is presented to you with healthy skepticism. Many dangerous and influential people will be visiting Hogwarts very soon; it would benefit no one to give those people a reason to notice you. Lay low and keep calm, and do not let today's occurrence disrupt your schoolwork or health."

There were several quiet 'Yes, sir's and nods in response. As he turned before he left, he said, "Go to sleep; you'll need it." With that, he strode out, feeling the dull need within him throb to life, quickening his gait like a silent shadow falling in step behind him.


	5. Chapter 5

Clarence sat with her knees pressed against her chest and her arms wrapped around them, holding herself close. She needed to get dressed. It had been cold in the empty bedroom, though, so she had lit the fire, and the heat had brought her to sit before it, letting the thoughts drain from her mind as she leaned against the foot of the bed and waited for Professor Snape to come. The cold stone of the floor through the thin fabric of her underwear wasn't comfortable, but she couldn't see herself moving for a while. Besides this slight discomfort, she found her eyes closing and her head dropping between her knees, her long hair trapping her warm breath against her face.

What was going to happen?

_He'll come back, and he'll take care of things, _Clarence told herself. It had been years since she had abandoned her position of being the recipient in their relationship – really, at this point in time she was almost the lead – but still, she often missed when she would hide against his chest and he would clutch her close, her face against his neck. Now she was almost as tall as he was. She loved the way that he had surrendered himself over the years, but there were times when she felt panicked and lost and she truly needed him.

Her head shot up at the sound of the door to the bedroom opening and closing; her long hair lifted off her legs and obscured her vision; she pushed it back off her face and looked round.

"Clarence?" Snape opened the door and glanced in confusion at the empty bed. he, too, sounded as panicked and as lost as she was.

"I'm down here."

He spotted her and sat down, pulling his knees to his chest, matching her position. Her brown hair caught the firelight beautifully, and he reached over to push it away from her pale face; it had fallen down again to cover it. Her pale skin was glowing in the warm light. Clarence moved closer to Snape, resting her cheek on his shoulder and leaning into his warm side; then she looked up.

"What could happen – what could possibly be so bad that it would lead a person to _time travel_ into the past to keep it from happening?"

Severus pulled her against him, his arms wrapped around her bare chest. Her breasts against his arms were reassuring, quelling his anxiety. He could feel her heartbeat through his shirt.

Clarence felt his nose press softly against the back of her head. She could imagine what he was thinking about, and it made her feel numb. He was thinking of what he would do, if he had that ability, if he could change things. The biggest flaw in their relationship had always been the past. If only she were still naïve enough to pretend that they could go on forever. . . .

She twisted around and looked at him, eyes boring into his, trying to force herself into his mind; he pressed closer to her and allowed his eyes to fade back into their natural, liquid dark brown, his shields dissipating.

Images flooded their minds, warm skin and deep brown eyes and dark hair, and Clarence was the first to look away. Love was the most powerful thing; it pounded and shaped you, killed you and brought you again to life; and no two people were more aware of this fact that Clarence and Severus Snape.

"I couldn't leave you," he breathed, shaking slightly behind her, ducking his head and inhaling harshly at the back of her neck.

Clarence's face crumpled, and she turned to face him, their noses touching, almost hesitant. Her eyes fluttered, and the movement enabled her tears to run down her face. "I know." Clarence blinked again, a wave of frustration rushing over her at how weak she was acting. She wasn't weak. Neither of them was. "I hate this." She wiped at her face and steeled herself. "Someone – today, I think it was Malfoy – we were talking, and I think he said that since we're supposed to be main characters - that we won't die."

"You never know, Clarence" Snape said quietly. "We'll have to wait."

A thought that had taken flight from her thoughts reappeared, and Clarence jumped as, for a second, their world crashed down. "Oh! The memories, Professor, they can't try you again, can they?"

"Not unless they change the laws, which they might," he replied wearily. She wrapped her arms around him fiercely, anger boiling in her stomach. He registered the pain of her embrace and yanked her against his chest, fingers digging into her back. She was shaking, now.

"They'd better not." The heat in her midsection flushed her chest and face, and she pictured aiming her wand and destroying Fudge and all of his associates with a single, bloody blast.

"Clarence, the information from the memories could lead to much worse things than me being arrested!"

"What could _possibly_ be worse than that?"

Snape took a deep breath and blinked, imagining again an empty room, his mind blank and screaming. "Slytherin house could be attacked," he breathed. "You could be targeted. You -"

Clarence took a deep breath. She didn't want to think about this, she wanted their desperation to fade into something easier to deal with. "Well, I guess either way we'll be getting something tomorrow, if all the people are here by then."

"There'll be a few maniacs coming in soon, surely."

"You'd better stay calm."

"I'm incredibly calm." She raised an eyebrow at him pointedly; he was in no better condition than she was.

He snorted, pushing Clarence gently off his lap and sitting at the foot of the bed. She looked up expectantly, still on the floor.

"Clarence," he asked, his voice low, amused and exasperated somehow at the same time, "why are you practically naked?"

She answered quickly, sitting up and resting her arms on his knees, looking him in the eye, arrogant and flushed, her eyes still shining from her tears. "Because I wanted us to have sex?"

He flicked her nose. "Not a good enough answer, Clarence." Her eyes were darker away from the light, and the fire in the background made a sort of halo around her head. He could see the little broken hairs that stuck out of place, highlighted by the fire, almost gold.

"But it's a nice idea, isn't it?" She fluttered her long brown lashes at him exaggeratedly; she had taken off her heavy eye makeup in the time when he was gone. The fact that they were still wet only made them prettier.

He laughed a little, and she smiled. "A lovely one, surely. But really, Clarence; how do you feel?"

Her smile faded, replaced with a downcast look. She regained herself quickly. "I mean, I'm already on my knees and everything, we're in the right position. . . ."

"_Clarence."_

Her heart sort of sank, and she wished, not for the first time, that he were more easily distracted. "Sorry, Daddy, I just – I just want to do something that feels good, I feel so sick right now." She lowered her head sadly to rest on her arms, and Snape pulled her up gently to the middle of the bed. She wrapped her legs tightly around his hips, pressing her body against his and forcing him down beneath her. She lowered her head until their noses touched, blinking up close. He linked hisfingers behind her neck and pulled her down; they knew each other well enough to tell when they really needed something.

Clarence moaned softly when their mouths touched, clutching at her professor's shirt. Their lips worked against each other's, panting occasionally for breath. Her eyes closed: all that Clarence knew was her professor's scent and feel and taste, and all they were was a mass of warmth and hair and clothes and skin and floating happiness.

"_Touch,"_ she breathed into his mouth. His arms wrapped around her waist obediently, rubbing and ghosting over her soft skin. Clarence moaned again and ground against him, hands feeling under his shirt to move up and down his sides and make him shudder. She bit his lower lip in appreciation, and his weak groan shot heat through her veins.

"Stop!" breathed, pushing against her hips lightly. "Stop, Clarence, stop. We need – we need to talk." He rubbed the inside of her leg gently; she was so warm. "Please stop."

Her heart ached briefly; she should have known it couldn't last. She pulled her legs from around him and sank down against his chest, turning her head so she could listen to his heartbeat. She smiled; his heart was racing. Snape wrapped his arms around her and she hummed softly, feeling better.

It seemed like he expected her to talk. Clarence looked up to him, still not entirely lifting her ear away from his chest. She breathed deeply and spoke.

"I missed you. I was worried, and you weren't here, and I was gonna get dressed but I just stopped, and I guess I got overwhelmed, and I couldn't. I just needed you . . . and I wanted to wait for you." She sighed and looked away from his face. "I mean, the main thing I'm worried about . . . what is this going to change?"

Severus looked to her and sighed. _Change._

"This is going to change a lot, beautiful," he said, "whatever it turns out _this_ is. The important thing is that we stay together and don't let whatever change happens separate us."

"Or hurt us." She tugged his hair lightly and held it to her nose, smelling him.

"Or hurt us. We'll just have to stay together, and keep fighting against whatever comes our way."

Clarence laughed weakly. "I never thought I'd have to fight against a book."

"Challenges come in many forms," he said, pulling a face at her. She laughed silently, a huff of air escaping her. "Besides, it's not exactly the book; it's what happens when people read it. Plus the memories; I can only imagine what could come of those."

"But whatever happens . . . nothing will change for us, right?" Clarence asked, her nervousness coming through.

"If we weren't prepared to fight for each other, would we be here at all?" Snape asked, tugging her a bit closer to his chest. He ran a hand down the smooth curve of her side and supposed clothes weren't much of a priority. "We won't change but to become stronger."

Clarence smiled at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and feeling like she had back when she was fourteen whenever she was with Professor Snape; protected and safe and loved. She leaned up to speak into his ear, brushing his long black hair away.

"Love you."

Snape turned his head to meet her eyes; away from the fire their faces were cast in shadow, but they could both make out the warm brown of each others' eyes. He pulled his fingers slowly through her hair, and Clarence's eyes closed.

"Love you too, baby," he said quietly. He kissed her and pulled away slowly, standing up to pull back the blankets on the bed. Clarence climbed in happily, grinning, hiding under the covers while her professor went to change his clothes.

She never did get dressed that night.


	6. Chapter 6

I've edited and added things in previous chapters, so if you'd like to then go back and read. The most significant thing is I've added two characters to the list of people who have to be present at the readings and memory viewings, Ash and Carol Mallowitz.

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After hearing the normally cheerful Filius announce darkly that he would handle Umbridge as she had walked out of the Great Hall, Minerva McGonagall had nothing to keep her mind occupied. Attempting to put her nervous energy to use, Minerva had hastily written letters to the people who would be present at tomorrow's evening ordeal. Once finished, she had paced around her quarters, sharp footsteps muffled by the carpets on the stone floor. No books had been able to hold her attention; there was nothing productive left to do. This had led to the current state of her office, much like the current state of her jumbled mind; disarray.

She had tried to plan for things; she had attempted to predict how the ordeal that had only just begun might play out, but she knew it was an exercise in futility. The minister, Lucius Malfoy and Sirius Black brought into the school, a deeper look into Severus's life . . . coping with the incoming, inevitable knowledge of who had lived and died . . . the man who had claimed to be Harry Potter, disappearing into green light. . . .

Hermione Granger had appeared with the box, and she had been angry with herself for not inspecting it in the first place. Though there were no harmful spells on it or its contents she had been able to feel the magic coming off of it; she had been shocked that she could almost sensed the emotions coming off of the book, the amount of energy the author – as it said, _Harry Potter _– had put into it. The memories, too, reeked of something passionate but indefinable. As she had placed it carefully upon a shelf she had wondered how Severus and Potter would handle this, their upcoming exposure.

Truly, Minerva wondered how all of them would handle this. Not only would the contents of the box affect the people listed, but also all of Hogwarts, all of Wizarding Britain, perhaps even other magical communities around the world. Perhaps there would even be repercussions in the muggle world. Who was to know? Anything could happen.

After staring for a seemingly endless period of time at her scattered mess of broken quills on the desk across the room, she heard a knock at her door. Too tired to mind whether or not it was another time-traveler, she said "Come in." She heard the lock click free.

The door opened, and in walked Albus, flecks of light bouncing off his blue robes and onto the stone walls, his outfit as dazzling as his sudden reappearance. He raised both of his thick, grey eyebrows at her expression of mingled relief and shock.

His eyes outshone his robes by miles, and Minerva smiled as she hadn't in months.

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Hi guys! I'm back :) Please tell me what you thought.

THE NEXT CHAPTER WILL HAVE THE FIRST CHAPTER OF THE BOOK.

And warnings.


	7. Chapter 7

My quickest update ever :)

Thank you to Sonara, who is a beautiful person. Thanks for the amazing reviews! :D I wish I could message you, but you're a guest!

**IMPORTANT**** NOTE:****_I'll be including songs that fit the theme of the chapter in an author's note at the top of new chapters from now on. If I list a song, then please consider listening to it or at least looking up the lyrics - or listening while reading - because I belive that it reflects the emotions of the chapter and the characters/events in the chapter well._**

**_I'd like to say now, I'm not endorsing these songs for money and I don't expect you to buy them. Of course, don't steal them either - they're on youtube. NAd I also don't own the ights to them, or have permission from artists for anything, so I claim nothing except that they enhance the story, and that you should give them a try._**

**_Also, if you've got an account, then please use it to review so that I can reply to you._**

**_Thanks for reading this, and I hope you enjoy :)_**

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Once Neville had left, Harry Potter lay in bed, eyes closed, trying, as he had so many times before, to slow his breathing. The fingers of his left hand ran repeatedly, unknowingly, over the scarred letters on the back of his right, feeling the difference between his skin and the scar tissue.

_I must not tell lies._

It was never going to end, was it? More and more being revealed, either by people talking or Skeeter or his own slip-ups. He had not felt this nauseous in months. His only comfort was that Sirius would be around, that, somehow, he might be able to make things better. If only he were there, beside Harry in his bed, hidden by the red curtains; surely he would know what to say to slow his heart's beating. But Harry had to remind himself that what might be divulged by the memories might be enough to turn him away, to turn them all away.

The thought of how alone he would be when they left made him retch.

_I must not tell lies._

Sirius and Hermione and Ron and Ginny and Fred and George and the Weasleys and Neville and Luna and –

Nothing. Voldemort, perhaps, would still be there.

Harry's fingers moved down to his wrist, to his racing pulse.

Scars. Silky and shiny and unreal. Sure to multiply if they left, if he was left alone.

_I must not tell lies._

He had never lied. He had merely concealed the truth.

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Carol was carefully stroking her sister's gray hair, lingering on the long curls and pulling them straight. Ash was asleep, curled against her shoulder, pressed close in the small bed. She had fallen asleep a while ago, Carol didn't know how long. The steady rise and fall of her sister's body was all that kept her from tears.

Neither of them had ever spoken to Harry Potter. She had seen his curious look at the mention of their names; she was glad that the Gryffindor prefect that had read them had pronounced their last name right. Carol didn't understand why she had been mentioned at all; she was left to assume the worst. The two of them must have met Harry Potter in the future, likely under some disastrous circumstance.

She did not want Ash to ever meet Harry Potter. From what little she had learned in her nearly two years in the magical world, association with Harry Potter meant drama, danger, and death. She didn't want either of them to get wrapped up into their new society's conflicts, a couple of mudbloods that were old enough to be pretty but young enough to be weak.

If they were dragged into the war - they wouldn't stand a chance.

So Carol Mallowitz made a decision: she and Ash would not become involved with Harry Potter, would not dare to pick a side; she would keep them both safe through hell and high water, even if it meant the risk of burns and drowning; she would protect her sister no matter the cost.

With that thought, she lay down and pulled her Ashie to her chest. Ash moved closer, nudging her nose against Carol's cheek. She was close enough that she felt when her sister smiled.

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Theodore Nott woke to Dray's rapping on his bedpost, as awake and perfectly affixed as he was every morning.

As he arose from beneath the blankets the sense of dread that accompanied the wave of vertigo that he always felt after a particularly bad night made his vision nearly go black. He had illustrated a book about Harry Potter's future, and Potter had taken his name on the cover.

Marriage. Potter wasn't exactly repulsive to Theo, nor was the prospect of dating him. The problem was the public acknowledgment that they might be together in the future. He would not be able to stand it, and though there had seemingly been no reaction to the homosexual contest of PotterandNott – perhaps they had thought that harry had simply changed his name, of been adopted, or had simply not noticed it at all – though no one had said anything, _he_ had noticed. And he did not know how he felt about it.

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Classes had been canceled so that the Hogwarts staff could welcome the people who were to arrive at the castle, and so the day was passed by Gryffindor house with games and speculation. No matter how Ron and Hermione hinted that they wanted to speak with him, Harry refused to leave his bed for anything other than to use the bathroom, which he did under his invisibility cloak. He didn't want to give anyone the chance to see him.

After spending several hours calming himself, he attempted to sort out the questions that were the most prominent in his mind. He had been awake most of the night agonizing over being left alone, and the sickness he felt at the very idea of it had faded into a dull headache. Now what was most on his mind was _Nott_.

Harry was aware of two Notts, Nott the Death Eater and Nott, Malfoy's friend with curly brown hair and dark eyes. Theodore Nott. Had they been together, gotten married? He tried to imagine how close he would have to be to a person to collaborate on a book together about his life, maybe even their life.

He couldn't. But the small ideas that he came up with sounded lovely, and it was to these fantasies that Harry owed his ability to reply calmly to Hermione when she told him that the first reading would be done at dinner.

He sat between Ron and Hermione at dinner; Hermione coaxed him to eat, and he gave in to her, knowing that protesting would do nothing but stress her more. The guilt Harry felt at having ignored them when they had only been concerned for him did not lessen; the sickness in his stomach seemed simply to move aside to make room for the water and rolls that he forced down.

The school, despite the fact that a time-traveler had killed himself the previous day, Umbridge had disappeared, and Dumbledore had returned, was strangely subdued. Yet everyone in the Great Hall could feel the tension rippling through them, perhaps through the castle itself.

Professor McGonagall have given the box to the Headmaster, who they had agreed would read. Fifteen minutes into the meal, Albus had lifted it onto the table before him, and the students, seeing this, had fallen gradually silent. He waved his wand, and large purple couches appeared at the far end of the Hall.

Then the doors swung open, and everyone turned at the sound in the great, silent hall; and in walked several people. At the very front was Fudge, Percy Faithfully at his side; Following them were the Malfoys, unruffled and tall; after them came Arthur, Molly, George, and Fred Weasley; and at the end was Remus Lupin.

Harry looked around wildly for Sirius, panic setting in now that it was_ really_ happening, and Remus twitched his head at the Weasleys; Harry would not have noticed, but there were five shadows trailing behind them; Sirius was encased between the four of them, invisible but truly there. With the unbearable tension coursing through the room combined with anxiety he wanted to cry with relief.

Just then the box jolted and glowed with golden light; the air seemed to chill as everyone held their breath, but Albus simply pulled out the book, the source of the light.

He made to open it; it did.

Then he closed it and spoke. "It appears that this book has discerned that everyone is present, and therefore is allowing us to begin. I shall read the first chapter aloud to you all tonight, and we shall see what happens." He looked up to affirm their agreement, and his eyes seemed to lock with Harry's, with Arthur's, with everyone present.

He opened it again and looked down at the page, glancing back up to address the couches and the four tables. "It appears there is a note from the author that is meant to be presented."

He then began to read, his voice projected by a wandless spell.

"**This book is comprised of true events; nothing has been changed. All conversations are either explained if forgotten or recalled to the most precise detail, with the exact words of the speakers. The memories are also made up of real events, from the perspective of real people. None of this is a work of fiction. **

"**As the events described in the book and memories have or would have happened in the lives of real people, many of the things that are presented in this book are unpleasant, while others are considered obscene.**

"**Such things are sex, violence, gore, death, suicide, self-destructive behavior, rape, assault, use of drugs and alcohol, adult/minor relationships, incest, polygamous relationships, homosexuality, prostitution, child abuse, war, mental disorders such as depression, religious debate, torture, betrayal, and countless other things. The only things that are censored are sex scenes that might not be appropriate for children, and certain cases of nudity. It will be mentioned when younger students might want to leave the Hall; however, nobody who was lifted can leave at any time, no matter their age or the thoughts of others.**"

Here Albus paused, rapt eyes fixed upon him.

"**Though many people attempt to hide from these things, terrible as some of them are, they are a part of life, which I strongly believe is meant to be viewed in full, with no boundaries or rose-tinted glasses. Though many of the experiences described have caused the destruction of many lives, others have enhanced them beyond belief. Aside from that, I also believe that information is the best way to eradicate ignorance, which is timeless and persistent. **

"**The purpose of this book is to inform you all, though not only that; it is also to present you with opportunities to make things better, to warn you of your fates so that you can smash tem and rebuild your own future. **

"**The hope for rebuilding the future is all that I have left. Not only to save lives, but to improve them; not only to follow the government, but to mold it into a group of leaders worth following; not only to win a war, but to leave diplomacy and peace in its place without wrecking the lives of those who fought for it. At the point in my life that I arrived to you all of these possibilities had fallen to dust years before. And the utter hopelessness of it all had crushed me to death long before any of you saw me die.**

"**But while you are all alive today there is still the potential to make your lives, your world, something beyond any of your imagining. And I truly believe that, with the right decisions made, those lives can continue where before they had fizzled, and that world can become a reality. **

"**This, however, will require patience, compromise, and, if not forgiveness, then acceptance of actions of the past. This, if it happened, would be the most difficult thing that any of you might ever do.**

"**But the results could be either worse than before or better than ever.**"

The whole Hall was alight with something new, something other than tension. Perhaps every person was imagining what could be, what was, what mysterious ideas might take form in their marvelous new future. For each person it was different; but for each person, there was hope.

Albus finished the last line on the page with a sense of finality.

"**Whether or not they are is up to you.**"

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